Another Kind of Ghost
by Mountainside Kilts
Summary: Seventh Year NEWT studies keep Harry Potter up exceptionally late, to a time where something mysterious happens. Short and Sweet.


Another Kind of Ghost

A/N ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~: Woah. I have no clue whatsoever how this came to me. It just sort of did. Right in the middle of another fic too. Anyway, I thought this was a good fic. I hope you like it, 'cause I did. R/R, flames aren't a problem!

Disclaimer ~~~~~~~~~~: *Sigh* I hate these things. You know the drill. Nothing is mine. It all belongs to J.K. Rowling.

And so, without further ado…

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Harry sighed. What with the N.E.W.T.'s coming up in a matter of days, his teachers were assigning more homework than ever before. He had attended a late running Quidditch practice that evening, and hadn't had time to finish his Potions homework. He already had a good chance of failing, considering Snape being so unfair, and if he didn't do his essay, he was almost sure to get a bad grade in Potions.

Harry stood up and walked across the room. He had left his bag at the armchair he had been sitting in before the rest of the house had gone to bed. He picked it up; it felt like he was carrying cement, what with all of the books stuffed in there. He did his best to lug it back to the table by the fire. He pulled out _Magical Drafts and Potions_, and began rummaging around the bottom of the bag for his black inkbottle. He found the ink, and pulled his lucky quill out of his pocket. He would definitely need the luck; this was Snape, for goodness sake. He sucked the end of the quill thoughtfully for a moment while he skimmed through pages 237 and 240 of his textbook. He noticed something interesting, took the quill out of his mouth, and began scratching away at the parchment.

After seven minutes or so, Harry paused, rereading his first two paragraphs on Truth Potions. He sighed once more, and composed a bit more of his essay. He let his eyes wander towards the old grandfather clock at the other side of the room. _'Two o'clock'_ he thought, _'Well, I should be done with this by three.'_ His concentration returned to the essay, and he continued to write, after all he had to finish another ten inches. But after a minute or so, he stopped in mid-sentence. He bolted his head up quickly, though silently, and stared around the room. He could have sworn that he had heard someone crying, or something. He looked around the room nervously.

"It's just nerves," he told himself reassuringly, although he wasn't quite sure he believed it, "It's just nerves, you're imagining things." He turned back to the essay, but his head shot up again almost immediately. He heard it again, this time louder. Now he knew that it wasn't nerves, he definitely wasn't alone in the common room. He stood up, letting his inky quill fall to the floor, and walked slowly away from the fire.

He searched all of the armchairs, and didn't find anyone. The sobs he heard were too low to follow. All of a sudden, the person let out a loud wail, and Harry knew that it was coming from an armchair towards the Grandfather clock. Wondering who could possibly be up this late, Harry walked over towards the chair. He turned so that he was facing the front of the chair, and he saw her.

She was definitely female, and she looked Harry's age, there was no doubt about that. But her face was hidden in her arms, tears drenching the thin sleeves of her nightdress. At first sight, Harry thought that it was Ginny Weasly who was crying, the girl's long hair cascaded down her head, adding to the cover in front of her face. But upon listening to the sobs again, the girl sounded nothing like Ginny. He was almost sire that he had never seen this girl before, so who could she be? He had met almost everyone in Gryffindor house. Either way, it was on matter. He was worried that she might be that, and Harry Potter wouldn't wish ill on anyone, apart from Voldemort, and maybe Draco Malfoy. He reached his hand out, and rested it on her arm softly. It was there only a split second, though. As soon as she felt his touch, she retracted. Her sobs seemed to quiet a little, as she looked at him. Her lips were still trembling from the long cry, or possibly from the cold.

"J– James?" she said softly. Harry was taken aback. Who could mistake him for his father? He knew that they looked alike, but he didn't think they looked _that_ much alike. He decided to ignore this comment.

"What are you doing up so late?" he asked her. She seemed nice enough.

"I– I –" The girl seemed reluctant to tell him anything.

"It's alright. You can trust me." And all of a sudden, she broke down.

"Oh, James! It's the Dark Lord!" She flew into his arms, and began to cry again, her words muffled by his shoulder. "H– he showed up and– and he killed my– my parents and my brother! Oh, James!" And she sobbed into his shoulder some more. Harry stood there, the girl in his arms. He was shocked at first, but after a moment, he began to whisper comforting words in her ear.

"Shh… shh… It'll all be alright… I'm here… It's okay…" Harry had no idea how long the two of them stood there, him offering comfort to the poor girl. Somehow, he knew her, but he didn't know where from, perhaps like an old friend that he had known long ago, and hadn't seen for many, many years. But he pushed the thought to the back of his mind, and concentrated on making her feel better. He looked down at her, face hidden in her shoulder. Wrapping his arms around her, he soothed her and let her shed her tears. When she could cry no longer, she backed away from him, and sat down in the scarlet armchair, hugging her knees to her chest, rocking slowly back and forth, and letting silent tears run down her cheeks occasionally. She sighed and closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the soft velvet of the chair. It seemed, to Harry, that his presence was comforting to the girl, and he stayed, hoping that she would feel better soon.

As the two sat there in the common room, the moonlight flowing in the window, Harry studied her, trying to figure out where he knew her from, for he was sure he had seen her before. She stood up rather shakily, and once more, Harry willfully hid the puzzle in an old, dust corner of his mind, filled with cobwebs and mere memories. The girl took a deep breath, and regained some control over herself.

"J – James?" she said, boldly for what he had heard of her tonight. She wiped her tear-stricken face with the back of her damp sleeve.

"Yeah?"

"I– I wanted to thank you, for being– for being so nice to me. Not just tonight, always." She stepped forward, wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and gave him a hug, and he hugged her back. They sat in silence for a few moments, then she turned around to leave. When she was just about to the girls' staircase, when she turned around once more.

"Oh, and James?" she called across the room, loud enough for him to hear.

"Yes?"

"I– I love you." And with that, she turned on her heel, and seemed to walk into midair. Harry raised his hand after her, as an invitation to come back, he didn't want her to go. For now, now he knew who she was.

"Goodbye. I– I love you too, Mum."

A/N ~~~~~~~~~: Well? Did you like it? I personally think this is one of my best fics yet, I really like this one. I know it's kind of short, but I wanted it to be that way. It adds an effect, I think. Please r/r!


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